The Lost Boys Review Lost Boys: The Tribe
by Mneme
Summary: The Lost Boys finally see Lost Boys: The Tribe. Hilarity ensues.


_Somewhere in Santa Carla_…

The sound of four engines being shut off at the same time made Max wince. He knew what was coming, what was about to enter his store. He'd been dreading it ever since the announcement had been made last year…

"Where is it?" David's eyes were blue fire as he stared up at Max while the other Boys fanned out behind their leader.

"In the new release section, where else?"

The Lost Boys moved as a single unit to the shelving that lined the far side of the store. The DVDs were shelved alphabetically; right there, under "L" they found their target.

"We'll be in the back. Don't interrupt." David sneered to Max as he grabbed a copy from the shelf. Single file, the Boys disappeared into the store room of the video shop. Max heard the door shut tight behind them. Letting out a sigh, he shook his head.

"No good can come of this."

--

Ninety-some minutes later, David hit the button on the remote, cutting the power to the television screen. He swallowed hard, his throat parched from all the yelling he'd been doing. Glancing to his right, he could see Dwayne, Paul, and Marko sitting in a row on the couch. Marko with his hands over his eyes, Dwayne with his hands over his ears, Paul… Paul's mouth hanging agape before it suddenly moved in use.

"What. The. Fuck. Was. **THAT**!?" Paul's voice rang off the walls.

Looking at the DVD case, David's eyes narrowed. He rose from his chair, eyes taking in every inch of information printed in the text.

"This was like some gore-enhanced word-for-word remake! Where was the passion? The suspense! The _cinematography_! Did the costumers hit a sale at Old Navy? Were the two kids Star and Michael's brats? I couldn't tell! Was that Aunt Jillian character really necessary? How did that stupid Frog brother ever make it past puberty! Did you _see_ those guys in the Tribe? They would stab each other for _fun_! Did we accidently grab a copy of _Jackass: the Movie_?!"

"Last time I stabbed Dwayne _accidently_ I ended up eating my own kidney." Paul muttered.

"_Wh_o sanctioned this thing? Who thought this was a bright idea?!" David was growing visibly angry by the second. The other Boys looked at each other.

"Grab them! _Every single copy_!"

--

"Hey!" Max shouted as the Boys moved through the store, grabbing the copies of _Lost Boys: The Tribe_ from every shelf. Dwayne moved over to a female customer and knocked the copy from her hands. She gasped in surprise.

"No! Bad!" He growled, snatching it off the floor and moving on.

Marko grabbed a plastic bag from behind the counter, stuffing the copies of the DVD into it as fast as he could. Max looked on helplessly as the Boys rounded up every last copy.

"Those cost money, you know!"

"Take it out of our residual checks," David growled, nodding to the others. Marko carried the bag out first, followed by Dwayne and Paul. David looked at Max then headed out.

As soon as he heard the engines roar to life and speed away into the night, Max felt himself relax.

"At least I don't have to destroy them myself!"

--

The Boys hit every single video rental outfit in Santa Carla, snatching any copy of _Lost Boys: The Tribe_ they could lay their hands on. It was nearly midnight by the time they ended up on an unused strip of beach, far off the beaten path.

"Unload them over there," David directed. Soon the amassed pile of DVDs was making a small tower in the ring of stones Dwayne had laid out; several hundred copies that would never again see the light of day let alone make money for Warner Brothers. A soft zipping sound caused David's head to snap up.

"What the hell… **PAU**L!"

"What!?"

"Do you have to… good grief…" David buried his face in a gloved hand and shook his head.

"I'll show _you_ water sports! Surf _my_ golden wave, Tribe!" Paul cackled, peeing all over the stack of cases.

"Oh, let him. His piss is as strong as lighter fluid." Dwayne smirked, pulling a disposable lighter from his jacket pocket. David glared at the dark-haired Lost Boy but didn't argue.

Dwayne grabbed one of the brown grocery bags they'd carted the DVDs in and held the flame to it. It slowly caught fire before he set it to the kindling they'd laid around the DVD stack.

Slowly but surely the pile started to burn. The smell of burning plastic would have overpowered just about anyone but the Boys had a mission to execute.

"So who do we blame for this atrocity?" David mused, lighting his cigarette off the growing bonfire. "The box said Hans Rodionoff wrote the script. We could start with him."

"Actually, with the way movies work, we can't really hold Hans all that responsible. Sure, his script might have been weak but ultimately it's what the director, cast, and crew do with it that matters. Hans probably signed over the licensing and didn't get much of a say – WHAT!? STOP STARING AT ME! I CAN'T HELP I READ THINGS!" Marko glared at the others in paranoia.

"It's always the little ones." Paul tsked.

"Okay…" David cocked a brow and looked back to the blazing pile. "We'll leave this Hans guy for later. Any suggestions on where to start?"

"Yeah I got one!" Paul raised his hand. "Can we stop by this Autumn Reeser chick's house? I'd like to show her a _real_ blood bath!" Paul's hands grabbed an imaginary set of hips and he proceeded to thrust against them, drawing hoots and cat calls from Dwayne and Paul.

"No." David rolled his eyes. "Next suggestion?"

"What about Angus Sutherland?" The smile on Dwayne's face was pure deviltry. "A poor man's knock off of yourself, if I might say so."

"What?!" David sputtered. "He is not!"

"There is a slight resemblance…" Marko remarked carefully, stepping well out of reach of David's fist. "Almost familial…"

"There is _NOT_!" David roared. "He's _nothing_ but a cheap knock off! He lacks the passion I have! The dry sarcastic wit! _The stunning good looks_!!" David's brow furrowed as he heard the snickering. "**Shut up**!"

"At least he doesn't have a mullet." Dwayne grinned.

"He's never going to be a heart-throb like I am!" David snarled. His protests only drew more snickers from the others. "Moving on, who the hell do we hold responsible for this?!"

"PJ Pesce was the director," Marko pointed out, watching the flames leap higher.

A cold smirk settled onto David's face. "Then let's take Mr. Pesce out to dinner."

END


End file.
